Ian Granland

A clearway is a parking restriction on a normally busy road in peak hours where the stopping of vehicles for any circumstance is not tolerated. The roads in this instance around Glebe were Pyrmont Bridge Road and Parramatta Road.

The Glebe Estate was once part of a land grant (or 'glaeba') given to Rev. Richard Johnson, Chaplain of the First Fleet, which arrived in Sydney Cove on January 26, 1788.

Derwent Street in the Glebe Estate

Former Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam wrote of the area in The Whitlam Government, 1972-1975, E.G. Whitlam (1985) Penguin Books Australia: 'Few places in Australia are richer in history than the inner-Sydney suburb of Glebe. The area was first surveyed in 1790, two and a half years after Governor Phillip established he penal colony at Sydney town. The name was acquired when approximately 200 hectares of land were granted to the Church of England. The Church subdivided and sold much of the estate in 1824. It kept 19 hectares for its own use, comprising Bishopthorpe as a residence for the Bishop of Australia and St. Phillip estate running down to the harbour.

"Sydney's aristocracy built large homes in the district. Leading architects, Edward Hallen (Hereford House 1929) and John Verge (Toxteth Park 1831, Lyndhurst 1834 and Forest Lodge 1836) were commissioned to design elegant houses. From the 1840s, however, the area progressively adopted a more working class nature. Bishopthorpe was subdivided in 1856 and substantial brick homes were built on land leased for 99 years. Tradesmen and labourers inhabited the St. Phillip estate within range of the slaughterhouses on Blackwattle Bay.

"Glebe was fully built up by World War I and began to decline after it. With Chippendale, Redfern and Waterloo it began to show signs of urban blight. Commercial interests began to leave the area, faced with competition from new businesses along Broadway. Social problems associated with the Great Depression reduced Glebe to one of Sydney's less savoury districts. Despite this decline, the area retained a close and distinctive community.

"After World War II it became increasingly obvious that, however effective in building mansions in heaven, the Church of England could not cope with its houses in Glebe. Low rent return meant that the Church could not allocate enough money for repair work. As a result, in 1973 the Anglican Archbishop of Sydney urged the Federal or State Governments to buy the Glebe estate for a planned experiment in low-income housing. My Government readily accepted this offer, regarding it as an excellent opportunity for Federal involvement in urban rehabilitation schemes. In May the Bishopthrope and St. Phillip estates, occupied by more than 700 dwellings, were purchased at a cost of $17.5 million. Uren [Tom Uren, MP and Minister for Urban and Regional Development] introduced the enabling legislation, the Glebe Lands (Appropriation) Bill on 11 July 1974.

Glebe is an inner city suburb, just west of the main CBD.

I remember being called to what I could describe as very sub standard living accommodation on the first floor of a premises in St Johns Road, almost at the south east corner of Ross Street. There, a young mother lived with her two infant children. I have never seen people living in such filth and and neglected conditions. I really had to give myself a reality check to believe they were residing amid such poverty.

Nevertheless the ethos of the area when I was there was very much working class and certainly not ‘police friendly’.

I started there with no cyclist’s uniform, and little knowledge of the police and area.

Monday the 20^th January was no different than most, apart from the fact that the city was just beginning to restart itself after the prolonged Christmas Break.

The station itself was a two storey building with a cobbled courtyard at the rear. This is where the police motor cycles were kept and not under cover. If it rained, the was no cover for the bikes.The photo is a contemporary version taken in 2005. The red X is where the courtyard used to be. This building has undergone extensive renovations since I worked there.

When I arrived there were three bikes: Two black Yamaha 650cc four strokes and one Suzuki (high revving) 500cc two stroke (what a heap of shit). The latter continually broke down and gave us no end of trouble. At least once I had to contact the Police Transport Branch to come and pick up the cycle which had broken down on Parramatta Road.

One of the basic problems with the bikes was the lack of TLC they received. They were normally ridden by two different people each day who cared little for their maintenance. The supervising police at the station couldn’t care less because they were General Duty Police and these bikes didn’t matter a tinkers cuss to them.

First thing I had to do was organise a motor cyclists uniform, so I arranged to use the warrant/summons room’s mini minor to slip out to the State Clothing Factory at Marion Street Leichhardt armed with a requisition for: riding breaches, leather leggings, 2 dustcoats, leather jacket, gloves and a helmet. The issue of leather caps had been terminated, so I had to buy one from a manufacturer in Queensland.

Until the riding breaches (jodhpurs) were ready, I just rode in normal police trousers.

There were four cyclists attached to Glebe. Two would work the morning shift whilst the other two worked in the afternoon, alternating each week. Early shifts were 6.00am – 2.30pm whilst afternoon was 2.00pm to 10.30pm. Best of alll was that work was contained from Monday to Friday, when the clearways operated. There was no weekend work.

Of course, like all jobs the enthusiasm was great for the first day or so, then the boredom of riding up and down a stretch of road, over and over again soon overtook the novelty.

I never received any instruction onto how to issue a parking infringement nor a traffic infringement, apart from my initial police training. I just learnt as I went. Occasionally I would get a ring from police at the Traffic Penalty Section, Traffic Branch to tell me I was doing such and such a thing wrong with my paper work.

Besides the station sergeant, we were responsible to two others. The Officer in Charge, xxx McDonald (Mac), a first class sergeant and his offsider, Sergeant 2^nd Class Kevin Stewart. These two were not always present when I worked and so I would be under the supervision of the station sergeant.

Besides working on the clearways, which flowed quite well after the peak hours, the cyclists normally did odd jobs around the station This included working behind the counter, serving summonses, issuing pawn slips, doing follow-ups to traffic accidents and infringement notices and cleaning the cycles etc.

One time I served a summons for a traffic offence on a man named Jesus Rodrigius. Obviously he was foreign, however I had never before met a person with the christian name of Jesus.

I found him in his squalid Wigram Road apartment. I couldn’t help myself. I said “Are you Jesus?” he said “Yes”. I said, “Well I’m sorry my son but I have a summons for you” and went through the procedure of serving. Well, I thought it was funny!! He pretty much didn’t understand English.

The delivery of ‘pawnslips’ was another job. These were lists of property which had recently stolen. They were printed by the police department weekly and forwarded to stations for delivery to second hand dealers who were suppose to check the goods listed against the list or the stock they might buy to ensure it wasn’t stolen. A complete waste of time in my book because I never knew of anyone who did this, however it was a job.

On my first delivery I had was an address in Leichhardt Street, Glebe Point, quite near the former residence of renowned criminal Lenny McPherson.

From the outside, the delivery address looked like a normal house. So I knocked on the door and received no answer. I went around the back and found the house backed onto Black Wattle Bay where an old Manly Ferry was tied up to a wharf directly behind it.

I attracted the notice of a worker in a pair of navy blue overalls who indicated he would take the document. I gazed at the huge ferry which was being dismantled or wrecked and remarked to the worker how rich the people must be who lived at the address to which he smiled and agreed.

Only later and much to my embarrassment, did I find out that he was one of the brothers in the firm which had purchased the old ferry and were taking apart for scrap. I again met him on my rounds but never again did I mention the apparent prosperous nature of the company.

On the afternoon shifts there was never much to do so I would fill my time riding Parramatta Road, between Pyrmont Bridge Road and Broadway looking for traffic offences. I could not book anyone for speeding because, a) I was not certified to do so, and 2) the cycle I was riding was not fitting with the appropriate equipment.

About 8.00pm one night I stopped an elderly gentleman who had made a U turn at the traffic lights in Parramatta Road at Ross Street, outside the entry to Sydney University. He appeared well dressed and spoke in a commanding but apologetic voice.

When I informed him of the offence he produced a warrant from the government which indicated he was the Chief Drafting Officer in the Parliamentary Counsel’s Office. In other words, he was the one who wrote the laws. I let him go.

I stopped another man for a similar offence and he could talk with a mouth full of marbles. He convinced me that he would be hard done by to be booked for such and offence and had me water it down to driving with his lights on high beam.

One night I went to purchase a take away meal from the Lilac Chinese Restaurant at 333 Glebe Point Road. Normally I would take the police mini but this night I rode my bike.

When I dismounted there was an older man abusing a paper boy on the footpath. It appeared to me that he was intoxicated and had apparently come from the Toxteth Hotel, just up the Road. I told him to be on his way and leave the kid alone only to find him turn on me and begin to abuse me.

He was foreign so I took it for a while then grabbed him but was at a quandary at what to do next because clearly I had no vehicle and it was far too long to march him back to the station. In any case he was only drunk.

So I handcuffed him around a no standing sign then went into the restaurant, ordered my meal and rang the police station for the truck to come and pick him up. They were busy having tea so I would have to wait.

When I went outside to check on him, I found that a crowd from the hotel had gathered and I was getting heckled from quite a few quarters, so I quickly went back into the restaurant and called once again, telling them of my situation.

I don’t think they could really care less and still had to wait. In the mean time the crowd had swelled to a very uncomfortable number. So, meal in hand, I rang again, this time in a bit of a panic. I could not release him because I had already committed myself.

After about 30 minutes the PD arrived amidst shouting and abuse and was transported to Glebe where he was charged with drunk. A menial offence which really was a way to get nuisances like him off the street for four hours.

I was again on afternoon shift the following day and received a call that the man was pleading not guilty at Central Court. Now I was fully aware that the charge of drunk was extremely had to prove. To be ‘drunk’, the person literally has to be out on his feet. And this guy wasn’t.

I went to Central Court the next day and before the hearing I got a chance to talk to him. I asked him why he was pleading not guilty and that it was only a very insignificant and probably the least serious charge a policeman could meter out.

As I said he was foreign and simply said he wasn’t drunk and felt he had been hard done by. In retrospect, I should have charged him with offensive behaviour or the like.

In any case I really had to flower the evidence up but the magistrate found him not guilty. Thankfully, that was that but certainly taught me a lesson.

At that time we had an older senior constable there who was on general duties. A real knock about bloke, who incidentally never wore any top teeth. He was never really friendly with me although that is just an aside.

One night one of the younger members of the staff had been involved in a slight traffic accident during the evening causing some damage to the police mini minor. When I got to work the following day, I found old Bill, in his amicable style, painting the brake pedal with oil to imply that the driver’s foot had slipped when applying the brakes which would have caused the accident. How unsophisticated I thought, couldn’t he come up with something better than that? Consequently, and rather ironically, the issue was never taken into account because the other driver was at fault.

Another time he was called to a death in Glebe. After noting the age of the deceased and that there didn’t appear to be any signs of foul play, Bill talked the attending doctor into signing a death certificate therefore negating the need for an autopsy (less work for him). He then went about other business he had on his list.

The station staff and Joe were astounded when they received a call from the funeral pallor attendants who had called to collect the body only to find several stab wounds in his back which was covered with blood when they lifted him. So much for Bill’s mental apparition. The detectives and scientific police were summonsed to the incident which by then had obviously been interfered with, tainting the crime scene.

Another night a Special Traffic Patrol Car, (STP) a large Rambler sedan pulled up at the station. Sergeant Harry Brennan and his offsider brought a person into the station for a breath test after proving positive to a roadside analysis.

In December 1968, legislation was introduced into New South Wales (Motor Traffic Act, 1968) which made it an offence to be in control of a motor vehicle if there was present in the blood an alcohol concentration at or above a specific level. The method used to measure the blood alcohol concentrations of drivers and riders was breath analysis and the result was expressed as an alcohol concentration in grams/100 ml of blood.

The procedure followed by Police was, after detecting a driver suspected of excessive alcohol consumption, to first administer a road-side breath test. The method of roadside tests would be to place a formal demand on the person then subjecting him to breathe, through a disposal glass tube which contained alcohol detecting chemicals, into a fortified and reusable plastic bag.

If the crystals turned green, the roadside test was considered to be positive and the driver then normally taken to the nearest police station for the purpose of undertaking an evidential breath analysis. The demand for an evidential breath analysis was also made if the motorist refused to undergo a road-side test.

A specialist breath analyser operator, part of a 24 hour police service operating across most of the state, would then be contacted. This highly trained analyser would then drive to the place where the police had taken the person and a further evidential test carried out on a Model 900 Smith & Wesson electric breathalyzer unit.

As long as the breath analysis was conducted within two hours of the original incident, the reading at the time of the evidential test was deemed to be that at the time of the incident.

The subject could contest the breath analysis result in a number of ways. A blood sample could be requested from a doctor of choice as long as it was carried out in the presence of Police. The venous blood sample would be divided between two specially-prepared vials (which contained sodium fluoride as an enzyme inhibitor and potassium oxalate as an anticoagulant) which are then sealed. One aliquot is given to Police, and is analysed in the State Laboratory, whist the other provided to the subject, for private analysis. Another method of challenging the charge would be to call an expert witness who it would be considered, capable of establishing that, on the balance of probability, the blood alcohol concentration of the subject was likely to have been below the prescribed limit at the time of the incident.

This was the first time any of the police at the station had seen the process of administering a breath analysis test utilised. Of course we were fascinated and waited for the police officer from the breath analysis section, then located in Bourke Street, Surry Hills to arrive and go through the procedure.

To ensure transparency and adequacy of the machine, it was tested before AND after the breath test. Then the analysing officer would issue a certificate to the driver as to his reading. I found it all quite absorbing, but not fascinating enough to want to do that type of work.

One morning I rode the length of Bridge Road and stopped a vehicle containing four men which had a defective exhaust.

As I questioned the group I could tell that they were in a hurry and the driver said they were late for work. I looked in the back seat of the car and saw a man about 45 with a meat hook in his hand slapping it into his fist with a look that would kill.

Momentarily, I deliberated as to what I should do. He was obviously threatening me in a veiled manner, but it was peak hour traffic and I thought about the consequences (to me, mostly).

I told the driver that to tell his passenger that if he thought he was being a tough guy then to think again, because I could write infringements out all day if I wanted. I then allowed them to go.

I had an accident enquiry to do at an address in Bakers Lane, which runs off Arundel Street in Glebe. A vehicle had been involved in an accident at a distant location and someone had taken its number and reported it to the local police. The owner of the vehicle resided in Bakers Lane and it was he whom I had to interview.

I knocked on the door and introduced myself to a fellow in his fifties whom I quickly surmised to be an old crook who now suffered from gout or a leg injury.

I explained the nature of my visit and whilst he agreed that the vehicle was his he didn’t want to make any statement regarding the alleged collision. The man, who was a big intimidating person, shook my hand and in doing so, thrust ten shillings (one dollar – for some time after the country changed from pounds, shillings and pence to the dollar currency, people continued to express their monetary dealings in the former) into it, for my trouble. Errr… I thanked him for his time and left.

I could see nothing wrong with that, it wasn’t exactly taking a bribe and to be honest, I didn’t know why he gave me the money – gee, ten bob, big deal.

When I submitted my report to Sergeant Stewart, he came to me and said that under the Motor Traffic Act, the owner was obliged to provide the driver’s details at the time of the incident.

“Oh shit” I thought, how am I going to get out of this one. So I had to return to the address, tail between my legs, explain the requirements of the Act and take a statement. I kept the dollar.

At this stage my own vehicle was a maroon 1967 mini minor, severely modified. One time driving it home after work I sped up Perry Street Matraville from Beauchamp Road and overtook a vehicle heading in the same direction which had stopped at the intersection of Jennings Street. I had no idea why it stopped so I engaged a lower gear and as I moved out around the vehicle, another vehicle on the left was coming out of Jennings Street and had to brake hard to stop from colliding with me.

He blew his horn but I just kept going. I eventually stopped out side my house in Caley Street and was talking to the man next door when this irate driver and his female passenger with whom I had nearly collided with almost 1.5km back, pulled up. He got out and was just about to remonstrate, and no doubt belt me, when he saw me in police uniform.

His demeanour altered significantly. He was apologetic and yet over excited about his near collision. I had to do something so I asked him for his licence. He fumbled and ultimately handed it over only for me to find a dollar note neatly folded up with it. I handed back the money and said, “I don’t think we need this”. I tod him the near accident was his fault as he was on my left and said he was lucky I didn’t book him. Saved by the uniform!!!!

Another time in my mad hurry to get home, I was zooming down Dennison Street Matraville, past ICI and when I came to the ‘T’ intersection of Beauchamp Road, which joins at an acute angle. I looked to my left and saw a very large bus or rather a interstate coach steaming towards me down from Matraville Shopping Centre. Not to be daunted, I slipped the mini up a gear and turned right and across the path of the coach who had to apply every brake he had to avoid a collision. Well, I had the right of way but it was far from a sensible decision, given that the opposing vehicle was so big.

He blasted his horn at me to which I gestured my thumb and kept moving, into Perry Street across Bunnerong Road and home. I changed and found I had to go out shortly after to Matraville to buy something.

On the way back and as I neared my residence in Caley Street, a quiet back street which got little traffic let alone any big vehicles, I saw this huge bus motoring down a very serene, Eyre Street in what I imagined was a determined search for his young smart arsed mini driver – just reminded me of the movie, ‘Duel’ played to the music of ‘Jaws’. I quickly drove into my house, opened the garage and put the car away to avoid any possible confrontation or punch in the nose.

It was whilst working at Glebe that I was called up into the Army. I went into work on the very last day, handed in my uniform and appointments and left.

Two years later I was back. I had sent a couple of cards to the Station from Vietnam which apparently were pinned up on the notice board. Lucky they weren’t dirty ones.

In my absence I had been transferred off the bikes and back to General Duties. I was still on the ‘strength’ at Glebe, so it was easier for them to hold me as a general duties policeman, rather than a cyclist whom, as I said, only numbered four.

In retrospect, I often wondered if it would have been better for the Police Department (now Service) to transfer all the National Servicemen to Headquarters and hold them on strength there, rather than have the suburban stations cope with being one man down during the two year period.

So back I came and really looking forward to it. I hated the army. I found it so restrictive. Of course many of the faces had changed at Glebe since I had left two years earlier.

Some said that they had seen my name on the roster for so long and never seen the body, had wondered whether I was real or an enigma. I knew I was real.

First job was back to the clothing factory in Leichhardt for a new set of gear then onto general duty shift work – another phase of work I didn’t like.

One Saturday Night I was assisting the station sergeant when in came a young couple who had been driving along Bridge Road and had been clipped by another vehicle which didn’t stop. The young couple were fortunate enough however to get the registration number of the offending car.

Now vehicles which were involved in such accidents could incur a huge amount of paperwork and the sergeant was well aware of this.

After getting their details, he turned to the switchboard and said “I’ll check and see who owns it”. I said, “Let me do that Sergeant” to which he answered, “No, it will be OK”. I persisted that it was no problem for me to make the call and leave him negotiating with the distraught couple. He finally agreed and whispered to me “make sure its stolen”.

Now not expecting this, my mind was working overtime as to why he would want the offending vehicle to be ‘stolen’. Bingo! Stolen vehicle – can’t trace the wrongdoer, no follow-ups, minimal amount of paperwork.

After I had put the phone down I turned to the trio and said “The cars stolen Sergeant” whereupon he intimated to the young couple that he wouldn’t be able to do much for them because of this and although he would take a report of it.

Soon after I returned to the police force I became ill with hepatitis A, in fact I was infected when still in the Army. I ended up very sick and was off work for 6 weeks. Already mentally drained from my time in the Army, this did little for my confidence and well being.

When I again returned, I could not drink alcohol for another 6 months so any social interaction I would have had with my work colleagues disappeared. All of this affected me greatly and I am talking about my mental condition. I began to sink into a depression and became introverted so much so that I sought help by visitations to a psychiatrist at the Prince of Wales Hospital.

When I again returned to work I was paranoid and trusted no-one.

Late one Friday Night whilst working with a young constable I was called to Harold Park, Australia’s leading pacing venue at the time, where a champion trotter had injured his leg. The duty vet had left the track for the evening following the owner’s decision to transport the animal to their Camden farm to destroy it. Subsequently they found the horse too badly injured that it needed to be put down before transportation and so asked us to do the job.

I had never done anything like this before. I knew there was the ‘Greens Humane Killing’ implement on-hand at the police training centre which was to be used to kill animals including horses but we considered the time it would take to drive from Harold Park to Redfern, hoping someone was there who knew where the device was, and return would be too long to have the horse in distress.

We both had our .38 Smith and Wessons pistols so decided to shoot the horse, which by this time was tied up in the back of the owners truck.

I will never forget the lack of compassion the committee at Harold Park showed on this occasion. After explaining the situation and pointing to the truck, they retreated into their committee room obviously in search of a drink.

We looked at each other and I said, “I’ll toss you for it”. My partner agreed and I took 20c from my pocket as I tossed it in the air said “Heads you do it, tails I don’t” and waited for the reaction. There was none. He accepted my adaptation of the choice option, climbed into the back of the truck where he put two bullets in to the horse’s head. He returned quite pale and his body shaking.

The only response we received from the committee was “Thanks boys”. And that was that. We drove back to the station feeling gutted to type a description of the event on the occurrence pad. I was waiting for the rocket from those above for using getting the Greens Humane Killer, but it didn’t come. It was a very harrowing experience for us which had such a ‘nothing’ finish.

Police are normally called to a death of a person to avoid any foul play. In one case I was called to a death in St Johns Road. The house was an old tenement and the man had died in the upstairs bedroom of natural causes. Whilst we were there the attendants from the funeral home came to collect the body. His elderly wife bent over the body and kissed him on the lips before they did. It was such a loving gesture and I was very kind and understanding with the family, so much so that soon after I received a lovely card from his wife thanking me for my compassion.

About 11.00am one morning we received a frantic call from relatives of a young woman who told us that she had taken an overdose of pills at her Arundel Street home.

We made a dash to the place only to find the door locked. I was yelling at her to open to the door and in my enthusiasm to make it all happen was screaming “open the fucking door you stupid fucking bitch” only to find the family of the woman standing behind me. They had arrived soon after us and I hadn’t noticed their presence. They didn’t say anything and we bundled her into the ambulance and off to hospital. She lived.

We recieved no instruction on the need to be compassionate and understanding with the mentally ill. I hope it has changed because the police have a lot to do with people who have lost it in one way or another.

It was during this period in 1971 that the Vietnam Moritorium Marches throughout Australia gained momentum. From memory there were marches in May, June and August. Police from Glebe were rostered to work at the marches, mainly to see that the law was not broken and peoples’ rights were not subjected to abuse. By people, I mean those other than the marchers.

These marches would start about midday, forming up in Parramatta Road, just near Victoria Park or the Eastern boundary of Sydney University.

I thought it was mainly university students marching but included were trade unionists, politicians and many members of the public who were opposed to the war in Vietnam and in particular, Australia’s involvement.

There were no bands, just thousands of people marching, some holding banners. The police walked beside the marches whilst the whole of George Street was closed to vehicular traffic.

At the top of Brickfield Hill (about the Liverpool Street intersection), I remember looking back down George Street, towards central railway and was absolutely astounded at the people in the march. I have never seen so many people in my life in one place at one time. There were literally thousands upon thousands and it was estimated that well over 200,000 were marching.

At one stage I was on the eastern side of George Street between Liverpool and Bathurst Streets with all this crowd of people making their way towards the Quay.

Near me a young girl stumbled and fell to the footpath, face up. The crowd gathered as I made my way through, kneeling to shield her from the swarming masses who were continuing without any notice of her situation.

Her friends surrounded her; an attractive girl about 19. Suddenly she opened her eyes with me comforting her, an arm under her head, lifting it slightly and offering compassion as well as comfort. She looked at me and spat in my face.

Immediately I relaxed the hold I had around her shoulders and she fell back to the pavement (and I hoped her head smashed on the bitumen) as I stood and went on with my duty wiping my face with my handkerchief. That incident finished me with protestors forever. From then on in I didn't care what their cause was.

At first I thought she had noticed the military ribbons I wore on my uniform but then I realised she was just another cop hater.

Later the crowd started to make its way up Hunter Street towards the Commonwealth Centre, now Whitlam Square.

Some were overflowing onto the footpath at the intersection of Castlereagh Street and a Sergeant whom I was with at Darlinghurst and later at Regent Street Ron McJannet started punching into them. I was ataken back. I didn’t know we went that far. I looked at him and he said “Fuck ‘em, keep ‘em on the street”.

In the winter the South African Springbok Rugby team toured Australia playing three test matches against the Wallabies. The tour was marred with controversy because of the South African Government’s attitude in maintaining a position of racial discrimination in their country. This was called apartheid.

Australia had banned sporting and cultural links with South Africa however the Australian Rugby Union broke the ban by inviting the South African’s National Rugby Team, the Springboks, to play a series of games in the country.

These matches were highly publicised and criticised. The criticism included several unionists attempting to saw down the goal posts at the Sydney Cricket Ground preceding a Springbok match and a gigantic anti-apartheid effigy which was hung from the Harbour Bridge but cut down before many saw it. The letters pages of the papers were brimming with words of indignation about the tour.

On Saturday 11 July 1971, the Sprinboks played Australia at the Sydney Cricket Ground. The weather was overcast and rain was imminent. I had been rostered day shift at Glebe on the truck. We received a call about midday from some of the police from Glebe who were working at the match to bring wet weather gear out to them.

This wasn’t a problem because we weren’t busy and took a couple of police rain capes out to the ground. When we turned right from Moore Park Road into Driver Avenue outside the Sydney Sports Ground I saw a scene which I have never witnessed again.

There, parked in line of file was about thirty F100 police caged trucks, normally referred to as a PD. They were all coloured grey and made a majestic site as we drove past them looking for one of our representatives who were waiting on their wet weather gear.

The game was continually marred by interruption with flour bombs, smoke, flares and racist chants as the demonstrators tried to get to the game itself to cause maximum disruption as possible. The ground was ringed by several circles of police, six deep in places with hundreds of them keeping the demonstrators away from the match. Their demonstration worked although more than 100 people were arrested.

At that time I never did get on well with the majority of the police at Glebe. I didn’t go for a drink with them after work at the British Lion Hotel in St Johns Road, mainly because of my then recent bout with hepatitis and felt a continuing paranoia about working there.

In August I had sat for the examination to the rank of Constable first class (one stripe) at the old Marcus Clarke Building in Broadway. I was advised in November of the successful outcome (see photograph of memo). The promotion would take place the following year on the completion of 5 years service.

As mentioned, I had recently returned from army service in South Vietnam and felt my mental state was far from stable. I had mentioned this to my GP but he fobbed it off, as he did at a number of my early self diagnosed problems. Nevertheless, I persisted and he referred me to a psychiatrist whom I visited at the Prince of Wales Hospital.

I needed to get out and rang Sergeant Bruce Scott who was still at the Traffic Office about the possibility of a transfer back onto the bikes. Fortunately for me, Botany Road was just being opened up as a clearway and he offered me a move to Redfern, which I took and went on to enjoy two great years of my life there.

[ENDS]

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